His Underground
by jendy
Summary: His Kingdom was crushed, ground into dust; but the dust was shifted on the wind, carried away with him. Now he will grow a new Underground, become a new King. But his fascination with Sarah remains, and he will wait for her to come to his Kingdom again...
1. Prologue

His Underground

***

Prologue

***

All he had left was a few feathers. Those trifles he kept tucked away in a pouch tied to his belt.

All he had left was a few scraps of dark, glittering material. Those trifles he kept wrapped around a wounded hand unable to heal.

All he had left was a single crystal shard. That trifle he kept lodged in his bleeding heart.

Jareth… Goblin King without his Kingdom, his crown shattered beneath the tiny feet of a mere wisp of a girl, stood staring into the dark of the streets. So this was nighttime in New York City. He found the rather bright darkness amusing.

A rat- was it really a rat, or something else?- scurried across the wet, filthy pavement of the alleyway, daring to brush against his foot. Out of habit more than malice, he gave it a kick.

The resulting squeal gave him much more pleasure than he thought it would, and a cruel, familiar smirk started to curl his lips.

He stopped, however, at the sound of a nearby car horn, its blare piercing the air and his sensitive eardrums. He winced, growled even.

With angry strides, he took deliberate steps out of his dark alleyway, into the nightlights. The rat- or is it?- followed him. When he paused, it paused, precisely three human steps behind him. When he moved forward, it moved as well, keeping the same distance between them.

The street he walked onto was filthy but full of life. Women in scraps-for-clothes paced slowly on their corners. Men who had too much faith in their thickly applied cologne leaned against storefronts, offering up their visage as though one should appreciate the mere chance to look upon them. Others- sometimes he could not tell what gender they were- scurried about, much like the rat at his foot; their clothes were tatters, their smell warring with the aforementioned cologne, battling for olfactory dominance.

The people chattered, yelled, screamed… The smell was obscene… The street was cold, but alive. All at once, Jareth felt something familiar stirring inside him.

He was in the middle of the street; few cars drove on this street, the drivers too afraid their tires would be slashed whilst they drove. He lifted his face skyward; their, just peeking from behind one of those horrendously tall buildings was the moon.

He was mesmerized as he stared at it, he felt the stirrings of music in his heart. Cocking his head, lifting a hand to his ear as though to hear it better, he started to sway to its rhythm. It was such a familiar lullaby. A song he had heard since the day of his ill begotten conception. It felt like the fluttering of owl wings against his soul, sounded like a rusty music box that needed to be rewound. He held out his hands, palms down to the street; a groan came from the pavement, a cracking, and all at once he felt his blood heating.

This time, nothing could stop the smirk from curling his lips.

The dust of his crown had merely shifted on the wind, been blown somewhere else.

The rat- no, it wasn't really just a rodent- chattered at his feet. With a nod of his head- what had it said?- he bade the creature lead him on.

Meanwhile, the song of his Labyrinth, his Underground, continued to play on into the night.


	2. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER::: I do not own the Labyrinth.

Chapter 1

***

"Don't be late, don't be late, don't be late!" A fervent check of her watch told her she wouldn't be late if she caught her bus in time.

Sarah Williams very rarely caught her bus on time.

It didn't help that it seemed like _everyone _was out and about that day. She was running hell-bent for leather, or at least she would be if she didn't have to dodge so much foot-traffic. It had also rained the night previous, and she was constantly avoiding puddles.

Ney York City at its finest, she mused to herself, her feet pounding against the sidewalk as fast as they could carry her.

"C'mon feet," she muttered.

The familiar words almost made her break stride, but she cursed inwardly and if anything quickened her pace. Now was _not _the time to think about _that place._

"Excuse me!" she muttered hastily as she very nearly ran over an older woman hauling a load of overstuffed grocery bags. She could feel the woman's glare as she sprinted past.

"Why don't you watch where you're-" The woman's voice faded behind her into the New York buzz.

Then the buzzing started to fade as well, just as Sarah fairly leapt off the curb and put her sneaker-clad foot into a deep puddle.

She was sure it had to be her imagination, but the spray of water that came up seemed larger than it should have been. It seemed to vault upward in a geyser of tiny droplets that caught the smog-filtered light just right.

She turned her head and for a moment, felt like she was moving through molasses; everything was slowing down, and she swore if she wanted to, she could count each droplet of dirty water surrounding her. She could feel each individual molecule of water soak into her shoe, then her sock, and creep onto her skin like a dirty New York-brand baptism. The sound- only fading before- finally blipped out, like turning off an old television and waiting for that little click.

She looked through the curtain of water droplets and everything seemed so still, frozen even. But there, ahead of her, she caught a glimpse of someone moving. With a slow hand, she reached forward and pushed aside some of the water.

People were frozen mid-step on the sidewalks and in the crosswalks. With so many still bodies, it was easy to spot the little movement. Blocks ahead of her, through the sea of frozen people, she could see someone walking, slowly weaving their way around bodies. They were moving away. She couldn't see their face. But she could see they had blond hair…

She was feeling a bit muddled, but that sensation was quickly erased by the rather rude blare of a car-horn.

Sarah narrowly avoided being run over by the turning vehicle by jumped back into the deepest part of the puddle, ensuring that both of her feet were thoroughly soaked.

And just like that, life had returned.

And at that moment, she spotted her bus stop, just ahead, as well as her bus; it was pulling away from the curb.

With a little shriek- yes, she was still known for having little fits- she vaulted forward, heedless of the cars still making that right-hand turn. She ignored the insults and horns honked in her direction and just focused on running.

She chose to forget that little incident… for now.

***

"Sarah! It's about time you got here! Wimbley is throwing a hissy!"

As Sarah dropped into her desk- in her own office, she was proud to note- she accepted the thick stack of files and mail from her assistant, Becca.

"Well, he can just keep on throwing it," she grumbled to the slightly plumper woman. "You can even tell him I said to quit his bitching." She wasn't in any mood to deal with the asshole she called a boss.

Becca- younger than Sarah by about ten years, but bigger by at least three cup-sizes- snorted. With a practiced swing of one wide hip, she bumped the door closed.

"Now, when I tell him to quit bitching, would you like me to put in your resignation then, or do you just wanna wait till he comes barging in here with that nasty red bullfrog face he does when he's livid?"

It was Sarah's turn to snort, and with the sound came a small smile.

"I could always ask him to bag it up to go, since he'd boot my ass out the door in under ten second."

"Five if you're lucky." Becca was grinning behind her cats-eye glasses- Sarah still couldn't believe the woman loved wearing them- and she plopped herself into the chair opposite Sarah's desk. "So, boss-lady, after I smooth Wimbley's ruffled feathers, what's on the agenda for today?"

Sarah chuckled. "Isn't it your job to know what's on my agenda? You're my assistant, after all."

"Psh. Like I keep track of that crap." Becca grabbed a notebook out of… somewhere. Sarah was never sure where she kept the damn thing, being that her assistant favored curve-hugging clothes that rarely had pockets. A pencil was tucked behind the woman's ear and she popped the notebook open to the next empty page.

"Let's see. Nothing, nothing, nothing… Looks like you've got nothing to do. You know, besides go over the Alderman manuscript, get that book-signing in order for Feldhake, and… Oh yeah, you've got a two-o-clock with the board to talk about how awesome that last manuscript by Dawson was."

"So other than that, nothing, huh?" Sarah asked dryly, her grin widening. Good, a busy day. She liked busy days.

"Nada, boss-lady."

"WILLIAMS!"

"Whoop, Wimbledy-bum is on the loose!" Becca sprung out of her chair. "Fear not, my lady! I shall slay the beast!" With that, the curvy woman bounded out of the room to run interference.

"You're a doll, Becca!"

"Sweet-talker!" she called back.

As her assistant left, Sarah leaned back in her chair, grimacing at the feel of her wet suede slacks sticking to her shins. She'd changed shoes in the bathroom- she never wore her foot-killing business heels on the way to the office- but the pants remained the only reminder of her early-morning puddle-jumping.

"Ugh… It's always Fridays. Why do Friday's have to suck so bad for me?"

Sarah contemplated whether she wanted to smack her head forward onto the desk, or just bring her palm up to do the job, when Becca strolled back in.

"He's calmer, but he still wants to see you." She cocked one hip against the door frame and grinned at Sarah. "So when he fires you, can I have your office chair? It fits my butt ever so nicely!"

"Har har."

***

Her job as the head editor of Wimbley Private Publishers wasn't always that bad. In fact, most of the time Sarah really enjoyed working there.

At least she was trying to convince herself as she trudged into her apartment that night. She'd stayed over in the office for five extra hours, pouring over two new manuscripts in an effort to appease her boss. Not to say she was a kiss-ass, or anything. She just really liked having a job that not only paid her bills, but allowed her a few extras in life.

_Like this expensive suede couch that would have cost you four months' salary at your last job, _she thought as she collapsed onto said couch. It was super soft, and super cushy and she sank down into it with something akin to a moan. She would admit proudly that she was in love with that couch; she almost liked sleeping on it better than she did her bed. He bed did _not _make her moan.

_That's because there's supposed to be someone else in it making you moan._

Meh. Details.

She had to drag herself from the embrace of her wonderful couch so she could go scavenge some food in the kitchen.

"Scavenge is right. I forgot to go grocery shopping," she muttered as she picked through some leftovers in the fridge. Finally she settled on a container of potato salad and an apple. Scrumptious.

Sarah Williams- despite her lack of food in the fridge- was fairly well-to-do. She wasn't what you would call filthy rich, but she was comfortable and could splurge once in a while. Her apartment was in a nice area and the rent wasn't too bad. She was just an hour train ride to her hometown to visit her family if she wanted.

And yet every Friday, when she went to her apartment to spend the weekend alone, she felt like the poorest person in the world.

"You're getting all dramatic, Sarah. Stop it." She'd never grown out of talking to herself, it seemed.

After finish off the potato salad and her fruit, she made the lonely trek to her empty bedroom to get cleaned up and tuck herself into bed.

Becca had invited her out that night to some burlesque show. While curious, Sarah had declined. She always declined an invitation to go out, though she liked Becca well enough. Sarah just didn't like going out all that much. Which she supposed was just a throwback to her childhood, when she'd made and kept very few friends. Hell, her closest friends had been imaginary.

_Maybe not so imaginary-_ she started to think before she drew herself up and glared at herself in the mirror of her vanity.

"Do _not_ go there, Sarah Williams," she snapped at her reflection.

Her reflection just glared silently back.

She had changed very little in the years since her adventure. At 37- was she really that old?- she had retained her youthful looks very well, a gift from her mother's side, she supposed. She kept her chocolate locks at shoulder length now, but it was still just as glossy and dark as her teen years. She had lost the baby-fat of youth and was very slender- willowy, her stepmother called her. Her eyes were still wide and green, and no matter how she tried to harden her stare, there was always a sparkle of innocence in them. Sarah still got carded on the rare occasion she decided to go out and have a drink, but she figured she should take it as a compliment.

With a huff, she turned away from her image and headed for the bathroom to shower.

It didn't take long before she was wiping the steam off the mirror. It was stuffy in there; she forgot to turn on the vent, and as a result she was feeling a little light-headed. She reached for the switch… And reached, and reached, and reached…

Since when was the wall so far away, she mused, her thoughts a bit hazy.

Indeed, it seemed like her bathroom had stretched itself out; what had once been a small square had suddenly turned into a long hallway of tile and steam. She could see, just ahead, the door and the switch-panel next to it. Bemused, she started walking, clutching her towel around herself. She had to turn that vent on; the steam felt like it was getting thicker and her breathing became labored quickly.

The tile beneath her feet was starting to feel funny, like rough stone, and out of the corner of her eye, it looked like there was moss growing on the wall… were those eyes? They were looking at her.

Her steps were slow but steady, and yet the switches seemed like they were getting further away. With each step, the length tile between her and it grew, until suddenly all she could see was an empty horizon between two stone walls.

The steam was choking her.

She collapsed.

***

He knew the instant she fell. He felt the thud of her towel-clad body as though he was the one that hit the tile. It gave him a start, but he smiled in response. Finally, his Labyrinth had reached far enough to invade her territory. It had taken years, but… finally.

He couldn't call on a crystal to confirm the knowledge. Crystals were lost to him. He could only rely on the heartbeat of the Labyrinth as it stuttered at her touch.

"Broadway."

A little rat, a very tiny creature compared to his much larger cousins, looked up from the corner of the dank underground vault Jareth loosely called "home". With a squeak, it skittered forward until it was directly in front of Jareth's worn boot.

"Go to the Lady's chambers. Watch her."

The little rat, Broadway, squeaked and ran.

***

With a gasp, Sarah sat up on the tile, clutching at her chest as she heaved in sweet cool air.

She looked around her in confusion. The bathroom was the size it should have been, the same small functional square of space as when she first viewed the place. No weird-feeling tiles. No little eyes. No choking steam.

She had reached the door and pushed it open. She had goose bumps from the conditioned air hitting her skin from the hallway.

She wasn't sure the air was the only thing giving her the chills.

She fled the bathroom, picked up her cell phone and hit 2 on speed dial.

"Becca. Hey, have you left yet?"

***

AN::: Hey, I just wanted to thank you all for the reviews! You are very kind!


	3. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER::: I do not own the Labyrinth.

Chapter 2

***

Sarah just wanted to get out of her apartment and be… not alone. She couldn't get the bathroom incident out of her mind, the feeling of being watched, of losing her breath. She needed to take her mind off it.

The club hosting the Burlesque night was _packed._ Had Becca not already had a table reserved with several other friends, Sarah doubted she could have even gotten through the door.

Sitting at their table, she was hastily introduced to the three others- two men and another woman-, and then Becca immediately ordered some pricey cocktails. Sarah only protested a little; alcohol sounded very good right now. As soon as the glass was in her hand, she downed it and immediately relaxed. The waitress came by with another and she took a sip then nursed it. Feeling a little better, she decided to listen in on the conversation.

"Have you guys had a chance to go see what happened on 57th street?" the woman, Mary, asked.

"Yeah!" Becca intoned. "That wall thing?"

"Wall thing?" Sarah leaned forward in her chair to hear the conversation better.

Danny, a brown-haired guy she faintly recognized from the copy-room at the office, looked at her like she was nuts.

"Don't you watch the news? It's been plastered on the tube all day!"

"Pick on someone else, Danny." Becca stuck her tongue out at him. "Sarah's really busy. She has better things to do than hook up an I.V. to the news, _unlike someone I know."_

"Still, I would think you'd have heard something about it," Danny pouted.

Sarah sat back in her chair. "Nope. So what happened over there?"

"Someone built a wall right down the center of 57th street," Mary said. "It's been driving people nuts, because it's just like it… popped out of nowhere. Overnight."

"So apparently New York City has a dreaded… PHANTOM BRICKLAYER!" the second man, Brice, popped up for the first time. They all chuckled.

"_So apparently _New York City has a bunch of people with absolutely _no life. _No way one person did that." Mary leaned back in her seat.

Sarah was about to reply when the already dim lights suddenly went out. The whole club hushed instantly, and as one, heads turned to the stage. A single spotlight touched the black velvet curtains.

She heard the ringing first, like the sound of someone running their fingertip on the rim of a water glass. The curtain parted just a little bit, and she and the audience watched as a small clear sphere rolled out to the center of the stage. The spotlight followed it till it stopped and it was the only thing visible in the club.

Sarah felt her heart drop into her stomach. That's when the music started. A smooth, sultry blues melody flowed from the speakers.

"_I'm crystal clear, baby."_

The voice suited the melody well. Sultry, a bit breathy. But enchanting. A second spotlight blinked to life, alighting on the curtains where a slim, stocking-clad leg appeared.

"_You can see right through me."_

Followed by the second leg. The pair seemed to go on forever, capped by a pair of sinfully red stilettos.

"_But if you turn me this way…"_

The curtains parted, the legs turned, and the audience was treated with the view of a woman's curvy backside, barely covered by a silky red dress. Her head was turned to the side, all but red-painted lips shadowed by a veiled black top hat. Her lips parted to sing.

"_You turn me on…"_

The woman walked out backward, hips twitching with the slow easy beat. She stopped just at the crystal, rested one stiletto heel on it and rolled it to the side. As she sang on, the crystal came back. She rolled it to the other side. The singer turned and Sarah nearly had a heart attack.

In each hand, she held three crystals, which she expertly juggled with her fingers. The spotlight danced off the spheres and scattered random bits of light through the club. Sarah swallowed harshly; only one other person she knew could do such a thing…

She wanted to run, but she felt like she was glued to her chair, unable to taker her eyes off the crystals even as one by one, the woman rolled them down her body to the floor, where they magically formed a circle around her feet. All but the original; it was rolled in lazy circles around the stationary spheres.

Sarah barely noticed when the singer started to strip. First, the dress; she flung it to the side of the stage. Then the corset below. Meanwhile, she continued to slowly gyrate and languidly sing. Forever passed while she teased the crowd, and then she shed her silky red panties.

When she wore only her shoes, stockings, gloves, and hat, the singer put her heel on one crystal. On a tap of the symbols, there was a tiny crunch and the globe shattered. She twisted her hips, put her heel on the next one.

Sarah's heart thudded painfully in her chest; with every crystal broken, it lurched suddenly with a particularly hard beat. Six beats, with an eternity in between. Six hard, crushing beats and she thought she might faint.

When only the mobile crystal remained, the singer dragged the top hat off her head and held it behind her, arching her back dramatically.

"_When you turn me this way!"_

She put the toe of her shoe against the last crystal, stalling its motion.

"_You… turn... me… on!" _She held out the last word, her voice strong and clear as the band tapered off. She pressed her toe down hard against the crystal.

But instead of breaking it, the crystal shot forward off the stage. It sailed out over first two rows of tables, a ringing sound left behind like trail of vapors. The ringing increased in volume till it drowned out the woman's voice. A spotlight followed its arcing path. Sarah couldn't take her eyes off it.

When it hit the ground, it merely bounced with a tiny clink. Another bounce and another, each tinier than the last, and it started rolling, winding between tables and chairs and feet.

The singer spoke once more, softly, when the ringing stopped and the band was quiet.

"_You turn me on."_

They crystal came to rest at Sarah's feet and the spotlights shut off.

As the crowd jumped to its feet, applauding, Sarah still sat, staring at her feet.

"It's a crystal, nothing more. But if you turn it this way…"

Like smoke, the voice dissipated, and Sarah found herself getting up out of her chair and rushing from the room.

"Sarah?" she heard Becca call out behind her.

She didn't stop until she was out on the street and halfway down the block, and only then because of the wall that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. She stopped with a gasp, barely avoiding running into it. She spun around, but was greeted with the same sight; stones neatly stacked and impenetrable. She didn't have to look to either side to know she was boxed in.

She felt something hit her foot, heard a tinkling noise. She looked down, knowing what she would find.

Bouncing insistently against her foot was the crystal. As she looked at it, it stopped its tapping. She'd never figured a smooth, faceless object could have an expression, but she swore it turned up, just a bit, and gave her the look of a curious puppy. It made a tinkling noise.

Unable to come up with anything better, she lamely asked, "What are you looking at?"

It tinkled and glowed faintly.

Great. A sentient crystal ball.

Could her night get any worse?

She tried to slam the breaks on that thought but it was too late.

"Good evening, Sarah."

Damn.

***

Jareth watched Sarah from a dank puddle, amused by her panic, amused by the show his Labyrinth created to torment her with the song he provided.

The crystals, though… They were not his doing. That was all Sarah. She did a damn fine job of tormenting herself.

When she ran, he laughed. With a thought he created the walls that blocked her path. He'd lost his crystals, but he didn't lose his Labyrinth.

The crystal followed her, and he was pleased to see her speak to it. When the sphere responded, he had to tamp down his glee.

"Good evening, Sarah."

He watched as she stiffened, slowly turned, and for the first time in years, he got to look directly into her eyes. The crystal pinged against her foot and then rolled to stand between them. It flared softly, lighting the small square space.

"Goblin King."

He smiled at her low tone; so strong, his Sarah, so defiant! Her voice was steady, not even a little waver plagued it.

"How are you, my dear?" He took a step forward.

"Peachy," she lied smoothly, eyes narrowing.

His smile turned predatory. The crystal flared brightly in response. He glanced down at it.

"It seems you have a new pet."

"Take it away. I don't want any of your so-called gifts."

"Ah, but Sarah, I did not give you this little bauble." He crouched down and patted the sphere like it was a faithful dog. "Nor do I plan to offer you such a give _ever_ again." He smiled up at her, but the expression was anything but pleasant.

"What are you doing here, Goblin King?"

"Don't you think we're past such formalities, Sarah-mine?"

I prefer them," she ground out.

"I do not."

"What are you doing here?" she repeated, though he was pleased she left off his title this time.

"Are you implying I am not allowed to be here, Sarah?"

"I didn't wish-"

"And what makes you think I do only what _you_ wish?" he interrupted coldly.

He stalked a little closer, nudging aside the crystal with his boot, and brought his hand up. She didn't flinch, but her beautiful green eyes zeroed in on the sparkling black cloth wrapped around his hand; they narrowed at the little bit of blood that dripped from his palm. He didn't touch her, just let his hand hover over one smooth cheek.

"You're… hurt," she stated, her tone confused.

"Your concern touches me," he said sarcastically. He pulled his hand away.

She glared at him, and the angry sparks in her eyes made him smirk. "Don't you have a kingdom to run? Some goblins to kick?"

He shrugged, walked behind her, circled her.

"That bird has flown… for now."

"What do you mean?" She raised one slim eyebrow, and that one little motion set off sparks in his blood. He paused behind her.

"So many questions!" he chided, leaning over her shoulder, much like he had so long ago, on the hill overlooking his Labyrinth. He breathed in her scent. She smelled like… cool mountain air and warm earth and something tangy and sweet and magical. "What will she ask next, I wonder. Perhaps she'll make a wish?"

"_Never."_

He grinned at her conviction.

"So sure?" He pouted as he moved to face her once more.

"What… are… you… doing here?" she practically growled.

Leaning forward, he was delighted when she didn't step back.

"I should be asking _you_ that, Sarah-mine."

Her frown deepened.

"After all, it is _my_ kingdom in which you have trespassed."

***

Thank you all so much for your reviews! And a special thanks to my beta, MizJoely!


	4. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER::: I do not own the Labyrinth.

Chapter 3

***

Seeing the Goblin King after so many years was like a punch in the gut. Correction, it was like a full body tackle onto hard pavement!

He hadn't changed much, and yet he looked so… different. Not broken, yet not whole.

Physically he looked the same. Wild corn silk hair that defied gravity. The same angled face with impossibly beautiful cheekbones. Those cruel smirking lips that said one thing while his eyes said another…

She would expect him to stick out like a sore thumb in a major city like New York. But as with his Labyrinth so many years ago, he just… fit. He blended, like a shadow.

She was surprised, too, at his outfit. No imposing armor, or feathered cloaks, or too tight pants. Just a black, sweeping trench coat with a Mandarin collar, plain black boots (not even with shiny buckles), and black clothes beneath. Anyone else might have looked like they were trying too hard to look dark or Goth in his outfit, but it worked for him.

And when he almost touched her, she'd been struck dumb by the lack of gloves. She couldn't remember even one occasion in the Labyrinth where she'd seen him without his gloves. She'd been mesmerized by his long slim fingers, the neatly trimmed nails, the smooth skin, but a glint caught her eye and she looked more closely, at his palm. The glittery black cloth wrapped around his hand… She remembered it from the first time she ever saw him. It was part of his starlit cape.

The blood that leaked from beneath the scraps made her own run cold.

His disregard of her concern made it run hot again.

Yet another thing that had not changed; his amazing ability to piss her off, frighten her, and make butterflies erupt in her stomach, while altogether tying her in knots.

She wasn't a naïve little girl anymore. Whereas before the sensations he inspired had just confused her, now she understood they had been the urges of an almost-but-not-quite adult. They had not disappeared with time.

The only thing she still had to figure out was, "Why him?"

Why was it the despicable Goblin King- the man who sent the Cleaners after her, tossed her in an oubliette, sent his Goblin Army after he, and, oh yeah, took her baby brother- that gave her warm fuzzies not even her couch could inspire?

Then he popped out that last cryptic remark.

"After all, it is my kingdom in which you have trespassed."

His comment struck something inside her; if she'd had a spark of suspicion before, now her instincts were calling in a fire brigade and jumping off rooftops to avoid the flames.

However, before she could demand more answers, the Goblin King stepped back in the shadowed corner of the box he'd trapped her in and disappeared. There was no poof of glitter, no thunder or lightning or beating of wings against glass… He just melded into the dark and was gone.

With him went the walls, and as they faded from view, the crystal- she'd forgotten about the sphere, surprise- bumped into her foot again. She peered down; it rolled back so it could "look" back at her.

"Go away," she ordered softly. Without much thought, she pulled back the foot it had tapped, and brought it forward in a swift, short kick.

The crystal sailed through the air with a clear ringing sound; it disappeared with a flick of light into a dark alley. She waited for the sound of it shattering; she wasn't surprised with the noise didn't come.

For a moment or two, she stared at the alley, letting herself be drawn into the memory of a dark tunnel, a crystal flying into it, that familiar ring..

A brief flash of panic tore through her when she saw a glimmer in the shadows. Would "the Cleaner" suddenly barrel out of the alley and aim its deadly drills and blades at her unarmed self, again?

Not this time. Just the crystal, whole and unharmed, flying back to her; it was almost like it was a movie played backward, because it arced the same path, and the ringing even sounded like it was going in reverse. Only it didn't stop at her feet; rather, it bounced from the spot and sailed straight up. Without thinking she reached out and caught it.

It didn't really hurt when she caught the sphere, but it didn't really feel good. Sarah cried out as if struck. Where her fingers touched cool crystal, heat bloomed, then increased until she thought for sure he skin would start to burn. The sensation was painful and yet not, and it spread from fingertip to fingertip before attacking her palm.

As though she was playing hot potato, she tossed the ball- rather dumbly, she thought- to her other hand. The same sensations assaulted her skin there as well and she stifled a curse. Her swears couldn't be contained, however, when small sparks started to shoot up and down her skin. Back and forth, hand to hand, she tossed the crystal; trying to drop it just made it adhere to her skin until her opposite hand plucked it away.

Finally, after one last and intense spark, the burning cooled and snuffed out, leaving her skin with only the faintest tingle and a minute glow. She sated at the sphere, now cupped in both hands.

"Sarah!"

Tearing her eyes away, she spun around and saw Becca hurrying up the sidewalk.

"What the heck just happened, Sarah?" Becca demanded when she was only a few feet away.

"What?" Sarah returned, more than a little stupidly.

"You! One minute you're enjoying the show, the next… Why did you run out of there like that? You looked like the devil himself was after you!"

_The devil would be more welcome,_ Sarah thought a bit sourly.

"I… had a panic attack," she improvised. "The applause, the closed spaces… it all just kind of got to me. I haven't been feeling well anyway and I guess it was just too much." She stopped talking before she started to ramble.

Becca gave her an skeptical look. "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah… no… look, I'm just going to catch a cab home. Thanks for having me along."

The other woman just sighed.

"Awww… I was going to try hooking you up with Brice, but okay…" Becca pouted a bit, but have in.

Sarah forced a wan smile. "Maybe some other time."

"Okay, but there better be a… What's that?"

Sarah was confused for a moment, but she caught Becca looking down at her still-cupped palms where the crystal nestled.

She was about to tell her it was from the show, that it flew right at her… But knowing that the show had been of his doing -he hadn't said so, but she wasn't about to put it past him- she didn't want to take a chance.

"Found it," she lied.

Becca gave her and the crystal an odd look, but let it drop.

"I'll call a cab for you, sweetie."

Beccas wouldn't leave her side until the cab pulled up the curb and Sarah had climbed safely inside. She's given the driver her address when Becca reopened the door and popped her head inside.

"Call in on Monday, Sarah."

Surprised, her farewell still stuck on her tongue, she stuttered a bit. "What? Why?"

"Don't come in on Monday. You need some time off, sweetie. I'm cancelling all your appointments. Hell, I'll turning in a vacation notice for you Just… stay home. Relax. Take a trip and see your family. Just don't go back to work for a while."

"Becca, I can't just not show up because you told me to."

"Yes, you can. You're number two in the company. You've got a ton of vacation time built up. I'm telling them you decided to use it. Simple as that." She gave Sarah a stern glare. "If you show up Monday, I'll kick your butt myself." Her gaze softened. "Go home and relax."

Sarah sighed and leaned back in the seat. "Yeah. Okay. Good night, Becca."

"G'night, hun."

***

At her apartment, it took Sarah almost twenty minutes to realize she was numbly holding onto the crystal. She was passing though the living room on her way to the kitchen when the thought stuck her, and with a growl, she threw it across the room. However, the force of her throw didn't match the speed at which id decided to fly; like a bubble, it gently sailed towards the couch, where it floated down into the cushions.

Miffed at her thwarted tantrum, Sarah tromped into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

"You know, you really shouldn't abuse it like that."

She jumped with a small but embarrassing scream, and turned on her heel, searching for the owner of the voice.

It hadn't sounded like _his_ voice, so she wasn't surprised to not see the smirking Goblin King in her kitchen, but she wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified that there was an uninvited stranger in her home.

When she didn't see anybody, she was confused.

"Eh, down here babe."

"What?" She looked down at her feet.

And screamed bloody murder.

***

Thanks to MizJoely for being my beta!


	5. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER::: I do not own the Labyrinth.

Chapter 4

***

As the Goblin King, his throne had been… well, not opulent. But it had suited him. With its long curving backrest- dragon horns, he had been proud to say- and the seat wide enough for him to lounge on- he missed the soft comfort of the cushion- it had just been one more thing that fit in the world he ruled. His cluttered throne room filled with drunk goblins- and the numerous chickens they seemed to collect- wasn't what one would consider an environment fit for a regular king. But for a Goblin King… It was perfect on a level mere mortals couldn't appreciate.

But now, as just Jareth, King of Kingdom Unnamed, his throne was whatever and wherever he chose.

Tonight, it was old wrought iron, long unused to escape burning buildings. His back rest was brick and broken pane glass. His cushion was an uncomfortable stair step. Tomorrow he might find comfort amongst broken gargoyles atop a museum, or even claim a bench in the park. His throne transformed as he saw fit.

He was holding court, so to speak. This throne- lost somewhere in the most unfavorable parts of New York- gave him a good view of his "subjects." Goblins? No. Humans? Not quite, not anymore.

They hovered around barrels of flame, hidden under piles of rags and refuse and scraps of whatever humanity tossed within their scavenging reach. The firelight, while it kept the alley fairly well lit, never seemed to reach their faces, though occasionally it shone in their eyes; red, yellow, sometimes bright, eerie white. Inhuman, all of them.

He carelessly swung his legs over the edge of the fire escape, perched himself so he could peer over the mass of creatures that, like himself, belonged nowhere.

"Pitch."

One word- no, one name- and when he spoke it, he only had to wait a half a second before he got a response. At the opening of the alley, a manhole cover suddenly shifted, rattled with a metallic clang that started softly and then steadily grew louder until it was echoing off every building nearby. In a blink, it exploded upward. The noises should have been deafening, but really only resulted in setting off a few mongrel dogs to barking and causing a couple vagrants across the street to pause in mild curiosity. The cover seemed to disappear.

From out of the hole, not far behind the violent disk of metal, a dark shape emerged. More of a blob really, a mass of filth and rags not unlike the figures already in the alley. However, this figure moved with an unseemly grace as it almost floated its way to stand below the fire escape. Its head- covered so much it didn't seem to have a neck between it and the shoulders- tilted until the firelight caught and held a pair of wide, bloodshot eyes; they could have been brown or black at one time, but now they were just fathomless.

"Sire?" Its voice was neither obviously male nor female.

"How long have you been with me, Pitch?"

A humorless chuckle flowed from lips unseen.

"When time never was and bowed to you, its master."

"And you were my teacher."

"Before the Wiseman could tender you with milk and honey, I teethed you with barbed magicks and the stones from which you would build your Labyrinth." The figure seemed to bow, but under the rags it was hard to tell.

"You know of my recent loss."

"It is not lost, King. You know where it is."

Jareth pursed his lips.

Pitch just shrugged, or at least it seemed he could have.

"You oh King, did not lose your Labyrinth. You lost your shiny bubbles that make little girls dance. You lost the ground on which your castle sat. it belongs to her now: bubbles and dirt." Pitch's tone could have been snide, but it was hard to tell.

"All I have is stone. What good are stones without dirt on which to sit?"

"You have dirt here, in this human city."

"It is not the Underground." Jareth's voice neither rose nor fell, but it definitely caused a hush to fall over the previously chittery beings in the alley below. Could one see more than Pitch's eyes, surely there would have been a smirk present.

King and creature paused the dancing sway of their speech, staring at one another with eyes unmoving.

It was Pitch who chose to end the silence, begin the dance again. Jareth's subjects resumed their mumblings, though it started as more of a hum.

"What do you ask of me, oh King?"

"I want the Underground."

"The Underground belongs to her now."

"I will take it back."

"Take back what was taken to begin with." The words were not quite bitter, but not quite plain. With each phrase, the humming in the alley grew louder.

Jareth smirked. "Still sore about that, are we Pitch?"

"Likely as sore as you are now, Thief of My Soul. Though perhaps more so, as you were a mere babe."

"Sarah was hardly more than a child herself."

"Shall we play 'Who Lost to the Better Thief,' my King?" For a brief moment, fathomless eyes flared a dangerous green; the color snuffed out like smoke, and just as quickly.

Another pause, a battle of eyes and silent wills. The hum switched to more of a cacophonous wail.

"You call me now, when you have already set up stone and magic in this city. You would tell me, you do not already have a plan?" Where arms could have been in rags, cloth moved, folded across where a chest could have been.

"I am not without a strategy." Jareth's smirk widened.

"Why am I here, oh King of Stone?"

"Sarah will need a teacher. As I stole from you, I gained power; you instructed me to wield it."

"You wish me to give her knowledge of bubbles and dirt."

Jareth leveled his gaze at Pitch. "And whatever else may manifest itself in her. You know the rule of three."

"Steal three, create three, and in the end, lose three."

King and creature were silent.

"Command of me what you will, King of Stone."

***

There were few things in life that scared Sarah Williams, Champion of the Labyrinth, New York Renter, and all-around self-proclaimed "I am Woman, hear me ROAR," type that she was.

Owls, peaches, and mazes there the top three things she feared, though you would never hear her admit it and she would try as hard as possible to contain any outward signs they gave her the heebie-jeebies.

But right below those three was the only thing that could actually garner chilled-blood terror from her. And she'd not given thought to this fear in years.

It was something that stemmed from her childhood, long before she ever gave more than a passing fancy to Goblins and their King, when she was even too young to comprehend what real fear was, long before she knew that families and dreams could be broken. Her mom was her only mother, and her mother's mother lived in an old farmhouse in the country where basements were called "cellars" and grocery shopping was done only once a week with no "running in to get a couple things."

She'd only been to her "Gamma's" house once or twice in memory, and each time her mother had warned her not to go into the cellar. Not knowing what a cellar was, she'd happily traipsed through the expansive yard looking for "the perfect spot" to play.

And she found it within the first ten minutes.

While mother and father visited inside, she busied herself inspecting the two white-painted doors that stuck out of the ground. They were surrounded by grasses taller than her six-year-old self. One door had a broken handle, but the other she grasped easily and pulled with all her tiny might. It took a few minutes of pulling as rusty hinges don't take kindly to six-year-olds telling them to move.

Finally the door gave way with a loud groan. However, it only opened as far as standing straight up from the ground; it wouldn't lay flat no matter how she pushed. With an excited yelp of triumph, Sarah stuck her head into the opened way.

It as dark further in, but the daylight easily shown on dirt steps carved into the earth. With a smile, she started a few steps in.

And tumbled the rest of the way down.

Being resilient, this resulted in nary a sniffle; after all, why would she waste a good cry on nobody being there? She stood up in the narrow shaft of light and looked around herself excitedly.

Shelves lined dirt walls and dust-covered jars lined shelves. She turned a tidy circle and inspected each shelf until she grew bored with just looking. Deciding without thinking she headed for the nearest shelf and started to climb, unworried of the creak the old wooden shelves gave beneath her miniscule frame.

At first, she thought the squeaking was just the shelves protesting some more; she ignored it in favor of pressing her nose to glass to get a better look. Then, she thought what fell out at her was surely just a jar, albeit a lighter and warmer jar then she expected.

Then it moved and she felt fur and then teeth bite into her skin.

With a scream, she let go of the shelf and fell backwards, hitting the ground with the full backside of her body. She flung the furry thing away from her.

But she was rewarded with more furry things suddenly bombarding her from every corner of the small dirt room. And then darkness as the door, hardly moved by a little girl, slammed shut with a gentle breeze.

Later she would wake up in a hospital. She'd blacked out moments after the rats descended upon her and moments after her parents first heard her screams. She'd been bandaged and poked and prodded and told she was lucky the rats didn't have rabies. She would ask them, "What rats?"

Doctors said she repressed the memory as a coping mechanism.

God she wished she could repress it now.

"Hey! C'mon lady! Agh!"

Sarah screamed as she swatted at the rat- in her kitchen, in New York City, as far from her Gamma's home as you could get!- with her broom again. She was perched on the island counter, trying to get as far from it as possible while still being able to see it if it should try to come closer.

"Yo! Chill out!" The rat- God it was talking, why was it talking!- dodged another swipe of her broom; the broom whiskers merely skimmed the tip of its tail. "Whaddaya got against me!"

Sarah just shrieked, closed her eyes, and gave a final heave of her broom.

The resulting SPLAT made her eyes pop open.

Blinking, she glanced at the end of her broom- the bristles being bent at and odd angle from the handle- and was horrified to see a long pink tail sticking out of the bristle-ends.

Cautiously, she lifted the broom.

There was no blood that she could see, but the rat was smashed almost comically flat. A small glimmer of guilt flared up inside her and she drew the broom completely away from her small victim.

"Oooooouch…"

She gasped as the rat seemed to… inflate, like a balloon. Dropping the broom she scampered backward, too late remembering she was atop her kitchen island. With an ungraceful squall, she fell backwards and off the countertop.

And for a moment, she felt rather like she did after she jumped off the staircase to get to her baby brother. She almost felt like she was floating…

Oh wait… Yes, she was floating.

And just as soon as she realized it, she dropped the last couple of inches to the floor, safely, but it still knocked the breath out of her.

"Eh. You okay lady?"

She turned her head and was confronted with a set of beady black eyes, set in a narrow gray-brown face tipped by delicate white whiskers. A small white star of fur decorated its forehead.

And much like she did in her childhood, she blacked out.

***

"Aw crap." Broadway let out a sigh and stood on his hind legs; he placed tiny paws on his hips and twitched both tail and whiskers in agitation.

From the kitchen door, he heard a ringing noise, and he turned his head to see the crystal peeking around the corner. It gave another- shriller- ring and launched forward into the room to come to inspect its mistress, and each second its ring grew in volume until it was practically screaming at Broadway.

"Ey! Don't blame me for this one! I din know she was gonna go all bat-shit on me!" Broadway defended himself, curling his tail into a "Q" and whipping it out straight behind him with a satisfying snap of anger.

The crystal just rang at him some more.

"Wha-? Ey! Leave my ma outta this! I'm just doin' my job!" Ring. "I ain't no spy! I'm a guard!"

The crystal flashed brightly, rang shrilly enough Broadway had to cover his ears.

"Eh, whatever. See if I eva defend you again. I'm gonna go get the King." Broadway turned away from Sarah's prone form and knocked squarely into a leather boot.

"That won't be necessary, Broadway."

***

Thanks for all your kind reviews!

And thanks to MizJoely for being my awesome beta!


	6. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER::: I do not own the Labyrinth.

Chapter 5

Waking up had never been an easy task for Sarah; lulled by the comfort of dreams and darkness, she usually had to set her alarm at the highest possible volume to even consider opening her eyes. Such a trait had been a bane to her college years and had successfully followed her into her professional life.

However, for the first time in a long while, Sarah found herself waking up without a hitch. She skipped the crusty, sleep-logged eyes and the groans and the yawns in favor of merely popping her eyes open and sitting up in bed, alert and ready.

But instead of trading drowsiness for relaxed wakefulness, she was on edge. Mostly because she awoke in her bed. She distinctly recalled not tucking herself in the previous night.

She was further disturbed by what she wore; never in her life had she ever purchased or worn a tight-fitting, peach silk nightgown that just barely reached the tops of her thighs and threatened to allow her breasts to break free should she even breath too hard. She tried not to think about the matching silk panties.

Throwing aside her comforter, she slipped out of bed as quickly as she could. Senses on high alert, she snagged her robe off the closet door and pulled it on; glancing around furtively in case anyone- or a specific someone- might decide to make an appearance.

Satisfied she was well-covered, she reached for the doorknob…

And abruptly jerked her arm back as pain shot from her finger-tips, up her arm, and traveled quickly through the rest of her body.

"Shit!"

It wasn't excruciating, but when it finally stopped, the sensation left her nerve ends tingling. It was almost like someone had hooked her up to a low-powered battery.

Cautiously this time, she reached on finger forward and tapped it lightly on the metal of the doorknob.

When nothing happened, she grasped it and threw the door open. Rushing from the room, she didn't noticed the crystal until her foot collided with it and sent it hurtling through the air; it bounced against the wall opposite the door and went careening down the hallway.

She paused for only a moment to watch it cut a bouncing path through her apartment. She followed slowly and eyed it hesitantly as it bounced off the hardwood floor a few more times and then came to a gently rolling rest. No floating, no ringing… it was very quiet and that sort of… disturbed her.

However, as she approached it, it started to glow, very faintly. The light stuttered a bit, stopped completely, and then flared up for a long, bright moment. Finally, it settled into a gentle hum of contentment and rolled over to rest at her feet.

"Did you… did you just yawn?"

She snapped her mouth shut with a painful click of her teeth as she realized she was talking to the damn sphere.

With a huff, she stepped over the crystal and tromped to her kitchen.

"Rude."

She spun on her heel to face the voice. She planned on the move being a little more graceful, but as it was she had been passing through the archway into her kitchen; as she spun, she knocked her shoulder into the doorjamb and she threw herself off-kilter into the wall.

"Damnit!" She straightened herself up and searched for her guest.

She didn't see him and she took a tentative step forward.

"Goblin King, I know you're in here," she half-snarled out.

"Even ruder. Not even a 'good morning' or a 'how do you do' to greet me? Sarah, I must say I am appalled at your ungracious manners."

The voice came from directly behind her and she stiffened. He was close enough for her to feel his breath, could feel his cool heat at her back.

"You are the uninvited guest, Goblin King. I would say you are the one being rude here." She tried not to grind her teeth as she took a step forward, tried to remain calm as she turned and finally faced him.

"Ah, but this is my kingdom. I may go wherever I please."

She frowned as she finally met his gaze.

"You keep saying that." She folded her arms across her chest; she'd tied her robe shut, but it had loosened and she didn't want to give His Majesty any show he didn't deserve.

"Saying what?" He smirked at her and she felt her stomach give an involuntary flip-flop.

"Damnit, you know good and well what!" she snapped. "I am not playing these games with you anymore, Goblin-"

"Jareth."

"Ki-… What?"

"My name is Jareth. I would like you to call me so." He smiled at her but it did nothing to calm her nerves.

"I don't think so." She decided she needed something to busy her hands with, so she sailed back into the kitchen, hoping that if she turned her back on him he would do the disappearing act. Mechanically she rifled through the cupboards, searching for her little tin of chamomile and vanilla tea. When she found it, she grabbed the tin only to abruptly throw it down as electricity zapped up her arm.

Shouting out several unsavory four-letter words as her nerves were practically lit on fire- and as her favorite tea was spilt all over her kitchen floor- she shook her arm violently as though that might actually soothe the pain. When it finally died down, she stopped her pained dance; but her face picked up the flames her hand had lost as she realized her guest was staring at her and smirking in amusement.

"Damnit, Jareth!" She stressed his name in sarcasm and rage. "What the hell is going on!"

Jareth chuckled a bit, and the sound made tingles go up both her arms.

"I am not sure I feel like answering you just yet. After all, you continue to be so rude to me. You didn't even offer me a cup of the tea you planned to make." She couldn't tell if he genuinely upset over the fact; his voice and his smile were at war with his words.

"You didn't even thank me for the gift you wear now."

Her cheeks flamed to crimson now.

"You had no right to put this damn nightgown on me, let alone touch me, or put me in bed, or be in my damn home, you sonuva-"

Suddenly she found herself pushed back against the counter, one angry Goblin King pressing her into it; the small of her back was pressed painfully into the corner of the granite top.

"Do not insult me, my dear, when I am in a 'generous' mood."

She barely heard his words; how could she when alarms were streaking across her body at his assault?

He was towering over her as she bent backwards to get away. His pelvis was thrust against hers, his stomach brushed hers, and his booted feet had her unprotected toes caged between them. His sweeping coat- she was close enough to see that the leather was actually tooled with faint swirling designs- was brushing against her bare legs and she shivered.

And his heat… Even through clothes, she felt fire radiating from him. One would think the heat would be greatest where they touched the most, but no… Flames licked at her more where their gazes met. His mismatched eyes bore into her and she felt a few small beats of perspiration form on the back of her neck. How had she never noticed before how tall he was?

He was smirking again, she faintly realized. His hands, which had before caged her on either side of her torso, slid from the granite countertop to her robe-covered arms, and from there to her shoulders, until they finally rested at her neck. She should have been scared, because his hands were in the perfect position to strangle her if he so wished. Somehow fear eluded her.

She summed it up to the sensation of his bare skin on hers.

Her heart dropped into her stomach before lurching painfully into her throat. The heat shifted like lightning from his hands to his palms where they framed her delicate neck. She let out a tiny, involuntary gasp as his fingers backtracked to her shoulders, this time going under her robe and slowly pushing the fluffy material back and away from her skin. Down his fingers went, pushing and caressing till the material caught on her elbows and held her arms to her torso in a loose bind.

Then up his fingers went again, dancing, tickling, mesmerizing her through her skin, all at once cooling and boiling her blood. She thought she might have heard him whisper something to her, but her brain became too fogged to comprehend.

His hands glided back to her neck and she finally noticed his face had crept closer to hers. Her lips parted on another small gasp as his scent hit her. She had never actually… smelled him before. In the Crystal Ballroom, she'd been too wrapped up in his eyes and the whirling motions of his dance to really notice. It was heady and wild and as she breathed it into her lungs she felt almost dizzy for a moment.

Sarah let out an uninvited moan as he slid one hand from her neck and slid it down her back so he could pull her closer until her chest was pressed to his. All her breath left her, her heart stopped for an eternity of a moment. The hand on her neck squeezed a bit, as his face came just not close enough to hers.

She felt his warm breath against her cheek, breathed it in, exhaled it back to him and he breathed it once more. In and out, out and in, they shared their air till oxygen was no longer necessary and they sustained only each other.

Ever nearer he drew, wild angles and wicked eyes, his cruel lips parted above hers. Brushing, almost, not quite enough until she almost lunged for him, but his hand on her neck kept her in her place. She whimpered.

The trickling sensation of liquid running from her neck and down, down beyond peach silk brought her back momentarily. She tore her eyes from his and looked down to see a trail of crimson flowing between her breasts. Too lethargic to cringe in fear, her eyes followed the stream up to his wrist, where it reclined against her collarbone. From there, she could see no further.

She brought a hand up- when had she lost her robe?- and trailed it up leather-clad arms until she could press it over his fingers where tatters of a starlit cape made a poor bandage. He gave no resistance as she pulled his hand from her neck, brought it up so she could see closely.

She should have been disgusted, should have lost the fog that he had put her in. If anything, the haze had gained physical form, was clouding the kitchen till all she could see was Jareth. The blood should have chilled her.

But no. It only fanned the flames.

She willed the bandages away with a thought. They fell, baring pale, bloodied flesh to her. She couldn't help herself, couldn't stifle the emotions that reared up inside and tears built in her eyes. She did this, she knew she did this to him!

Closing her eyes, she brought his bare palm up and held it against her cheek; his skin was hot, but his blood was cool and it seared her, burned into her until she couldn't contain a small sob.

She turned her lips into his palm, gave it the kiss she had wanted- no, needed- to give his own lips.

And when she opened her eyes again, looked up at him, still mesmerized, still under whatever spell he'd cast on her…

He lunged for her this time.

His bloodied hand dove into her hair, cradled the back of her skull. His other hand went for her hip, slipped on silk, grasped what flesh he could and pulled her impossibly closer. She parted her lips below his, moaned as she felt him almost reach her…

And the barest brush of flesh on flesh sent waves of otherworldly awareness crashing over her till she didn't know if up was down or sideways was the other ways. The fog around them seized her and tore at her and made her flesh turn into sand and she drifted away, out of his arms. She couldn't breathe, not without his breath…

Sarah gasped and shot up out of bed, clutching at her chest as much-needed oxygen flooded her lungs.

She was covered in sweat and tangled in the sheets and she felt like she was coming out of a black-out; her head and her eyes felt heavy and useless. She rolled her head, trying to get something back in her and working.

She rolled off the bed, crashed to the floor, still sucking in air like it was going out of style. Her skin felt hot, like she'd been too close to a fire, or out in the sun for way too long.

Awareness was slow, but eventually it crept back into her. The dream- God, it had just been a dream?- slowly left her, like sand in a hourglass, and she rubbed her eyes as the last few grains disappeared.

She was still breathing heavily as she stood from the floor. On wobbly legs, she made her way to her bathroom.

She froze as she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror.

Peach silk…

Bloodied peach silk.

And clutched in her hand were a few scraps of dark, glittering cloth.

Thanks for all your awesome reviews! And mad props to my beta, MizJoely!


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